


From The Shadows

by dizzyDG



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Civil War, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), F/M, Riften, Secret Identity, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-10-05 00:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10293701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyDG/pseuds/dizzyDG
Summary: Adrian is a simple blacksmith leading a simple life in Ivarstead until his wife is taken by bandits. Swearing to track her down, he next finds himself in Helgen - wrongly sent to the headsman's block as the first dragon in hundreds of years makes an appearance. On escaping, he intends to resume the search for his wife, but his journey leads him to be proclaimed Dragonborn.Unwilling to accept the declaration, nor the summons of the Greybeards, he turns his back on fate and heads for Riften. There, he becomes embroiled with the Guild, his paths routinely crossing with a young woman with a big secret. She tries to encourage him to take the path of the Dragonborn, though her motivations for doing so may not be entirely pure.Throughout this, Adrian continues the desperate search for his wife, claiming the life of any bandit who crosses his path as lust for vengeance threatens to consume him.Secrets will eventually spill, and when they do Adrian will have to make a final choice. Will he embrace destiny, or to slip the shroud of the Dragonborn from his shoulders for good, and embrace the shadows entirely?





	1. Escape

 

* * *

Hallam made sure to pull the canvas carefully across the back of the wagon before he moved further into the back. Glancing back to check once again that no one could peer in before he shifted the crude straw mattress he slept on aside. Again, he looked back before digging his fingertips into the right spot to ease up the small, loose board. Beneath was the secret compartment he had fashioned years ago, after his third bandit attack in as many weeks.

To the outside, and to the bandits that frequently lined the roads he travelled on, he was a simple merchant selling simple goods. Cloth, ale, some grains and cheese, the odd trinket here and there. It wasn’t the most bountiful haul for a group of bandits, but it was enough that they didn’t anger and kill him. They didn’t know about the compartment though, no one did. Only Hallam himself, and that was the way he would have it stay.

He put the loose board aside and lifted the hem of his tunic to reveal a hidden belt. From that hung a leather pouch, which he drew open. Inside were several gems worth several hundred septims. This was how Hallam made his real coin, and it was always more than enough to compensate for his lost goods on the occasions he was looted by bandits. It happened slightly less frequently now, the Jarls had been putting up plentiful bounty for clearing out bandit clans, and so they stayed away from the main roads more often than not. Still, Hallam would not risk keeping the jewels anywhere other than his secret compartment.

He pulled the leather pouch closed again and fit it into the space, before undoing the hidden belt and stowing it in there as well. Often bandits roughly patted a man down to check for hidden coin purses and the like. Hallam was always careful to keep a few septims in his boot. That way he could look dismayed when they were found, and the bandits would imagine that were all he had to hide. Really, for men and women with such feared reputations, Hallam could not help but think they were rather dense.

Thanks to his secret jewel trade, Hallam had managed to buy himself a modest house on the outskirts of Solitude. It was where he conducted most of his business, unsurprisingly considering it was the most prosperous city in Skyrim. However, every few months or so he would venture out and trade elsewhere, restock supplies of rarer goods found further afield, and get away from the nagging of his wife. Even she believed him a humble merchant, if she knew the truth doubtless she would nag him all the more about the cheap cloth she made her clothes from.

Hallam kept his fortune safe away from her greedy eyes, knowing full well she would be more than capable of spending the lot in the time he was away from home. He had only really married her to stop his mother pecking his head, and he had regretted it ever since. Instead of a mother constantly nagging him, he now had a wife in her place. At least his mother knew how to cook. Hallam sighed, slotting the loose board back into place before moving to clamber down from the back of the wagon.

As his feet found the solid ground he found himself face to face with a young woman. At first his gaze slid past her, not imagining she wanted anything to do with him. His eyes were drawn back though, as he had to look twice at her face. She was beautiful. Though she was dressed plainly, a hood drawn up over her head, he could tell that her features were startling. He knew at once he had never seen her before, a face like that would have been remembered.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked her, as her eyes cast towards him. They were a shocking blue.

“Where are you headed?” she asked in return.

“Riften,” he answered her question.

“How much to catch a ride with you?” she asked next, and he frowned slightly.

It wasn’t as though he had never taken a traveller with him before, it was just that there were usually a type – and she fit none of them. Mostly it was young men looking for adventure and fortune. He would charge them between five and ten septims for a ride – depending on how handy they looked with a sword. The more capable they appeared, the cheaper the price. Not that he told them that, of course. The other type were families, they were rarer to pick up, but sometimes the father had found better work in another city. He would charge them more, especially if they had belongings to stow in the wagon as well.

This girl though…He did not even know if he should allow her passage. A beautiful woman was often more trouble than she was worth, and if he were set upon by bandits…Well, it would not just be his goods they made off with. He wondered if she knew that. Riften was on the other side of the country, it would take the best part of four days to get there, and that was if the weather was kind. Really, the girl would be safer staying at home. He took in her plain clothing again. She could not have that much coin, surely?

“Riften?” he scratched at his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Long way Riften…best I can offer is twenty septims, and you’ll not find a better deal than that.”

She bit her lip, and he imagined she would thank him for the offer, but refuse him.

“Very well,” she said after a moment, and he inwardly cursed.

“You have the coin now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak aside to reveal a coin purse that was clearly bulging. He wondered how she had got her hands on so much coin, but soon decided he would rather not know.

“Alright, hop on up,” he said grudgingly. “Best you ride in the back, young girl like you might bring all kinds of unwanted attention my way.”

“As you wish,” she said politely, making her way to the back of the wagon.

Hallam followed her, and offered her and hand up so she could get up and settle herself in the back. He was torn over his decision to take her, but he could hardly refuse now that she had accepted his price. As she settled he watched her, wondering what exactly she was running from that would send her all the way to Riften. He pulled the canvas into place. Perhaps he was being too suspicious. She may not be running from anything. Might be she had come to Solitude to earn some coin before returning to her family in Riften. Yes, doubtless that was it.

“We’ll be off now, miss,” he said as he hauled himself up onto the front of the wagon and took hold of the horses’ reins. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll not be stopping till dark.”

“Thank you,” she called softly from the back, and he smiled slightly before pulling on the reins to get the horses going. They soon evened out into a slow trot as they made their way from the shadow of Solitude, and in no time at all the great city was a mere distant landmark on the horizon.

* * *

Adrian looked up from hammering the steel at the shriek. His eyes narrowed as he looked towards the small stream Mella had walked down to, to wash their clothes. He dropped the hammer on seeing the upturned basket, his wife no longer anywhere to be seen. Without second thought he was pulling one of his newly forged swords from the rack. Another moment saw him practically sprinting down to the stream.

“Mella?!” he bellowed, his feet skidding to a halt on the shale bank. His heart was pounding in his chest, his head turning rapidly as he looked in all directions for his wife. There was open ground on almost every side. If someone or something had snatched her, surely there would be some trace? It had been mere moments since he had heard her shriek.

That left only one option, and he swallowed hard as he looked towards the trees. They were perfect for an ambush, but he had little choice. “Mella?!” he shouted again, running towards the tree line. He brushed the hanging branches aside, his feet getting caught in the undergrowth. He cursed, pulling his legs free as thorns stabbed into his upper calve and knees. Kicking free he found the undergrowth sparser the further under the shade of the trees he moved.

Panicking, his heart pounding, he frantically glanced around for any clue. To the left the undergrowth seemed to have been trodden into a path, and he moved towards it. The stream continued on through the stream, and he knew that it eventually flowed into Lake Geir. “By, Ysmir,” Adrian half-groaned. There were several sets of footprints in the mud along the streamside, and what looked inexplicably like drag marks.

“Mella?!” his cry this time was that of an enraged, wounded, animal. He took off along the footprints as fast as he could, ignoring the scratches and the stumbles. All he could think about was finding his wife, about how all of this was his fault. He was such a fool, men had long warned him to keep her close; that she was far too tempting a bounty for bandits and marauders. Adrian had laughed, shrugged it off.

Yes, he kept Mella close, but obviously he had not kept her close enough. How could he ever live with the guilt of it? Ever face her parents? They would blame him, he knew it. They had always wanted them to remain in Riften after their wedding. Adrian had refused, he knew he would make more coin being the sole smith in a village, than one of many in a city. So they had moved to Ivarstead, where he had hoped to gain custom from pilgrims heading up the seven thousand steps.

He had done a steady trade, and he and Mella had been happy. Though he knew Mella missed the city and her parents, she never complained about their quiet life. Neither had he, for it meant he had fewer prying eyes on her. Or so he had thought…

He could see the light through the trees ahead of him now, and he knew he would soon come back out into the open. By the divines, he hoped there would be some clue for him to follow on the other side. He crashed through the branches as a stifled scream came from the other side. Adrian emerged, met with the site of two boats being pushed out onto the water, Mella being forcefully pulled onto one of them.

He saw red.

“Mella!” he cried out, running down the small hill between the thicket and the lake’s edge. Two of the armoured men turned at his exclamation, turning their weapons menacingly in their hands. Adrian gripped his own harder, his eyes flickering between the waiting bandits and his wife still struggling against her captors.

As he clashed swords with the first of the bandits, he saw one of the men in the boat backhand Mella hard across the face. He practically snarled in response, his anger rising to the point that it felt as though his blood was boiling in his veins. Adrian was sure it was his pure fury that had him shoving his opponent so hard that he unbalanced and fell into the shallows of the lake.

The second bandit on the shore engaged him as the first coughed and spluttered, limbs flailing in the water. Adrian didn’t waste any more time on him as steel clashed on steel. The second man was stronger, though Adrian knew that he could best him. He not only knew how to forge swords, but how to wield them as well. All he needed was to wait for a weakness, the slightest hesitation in his opponent.

It came only moments later, and Adrian managed to slice through the man’s hide bracer and pierce his skin. The bandit roared with pain, his distraction enough to have Adrian driving his sword through the bastard’s throat. He allowed himself a second to glean a moment of satisfaction from the man choking on his own blood before he wrenched the sword free and turned back to the lake.

The first man was stumbling out of the water now, but Adrian was not willing to give him a moment to get back on steady feet. He rammed the steel so far through the bandit’s gut that it came out the other side, the force lifting him off his feet. Adrian had to let go of his sword, knowing there would be no point trying to retrieve it when it was so far buried in the man. He would waste precious time by trying.

Instead, he snatched up the dead man’s sword, not liking the balance as much as he had enjoyed his own creation. Still, it would have to do. He had little time, the boat bearing Mella and another three bandits was moving further out into the lake now. Without a second thought he plunged into the water, wading out as fast as he could. The water was soon up about his waist and he sheathed the sword into his belt before diving into the lake.

His strokes were messy as he swam towards the boat, looking up every half minute or so to check whether he was gaining on the vessel. Several minutes passed before he had to stop and tread water, a stitch stabbing his chest and stomach. “Mella!” he choked on a mouthful of water, dismay flooding him as he saw he had not gained an inch, the boat had pulled too far away. Though it pained him more than he could say, he had to admit that he would not catch them this way.

“Don’t give up on me, Mella!” he shouted as loudly as his voice would allow. “I’ll find you!”

He tried not to think about the state in which he would find her as he struck out towards the shore. His muscles were aching as he crawled back through the shale and onto dry land. The sun was fading down behind the horizon now, and he forced himself to his feet, his knees shaking. Adrian turned back to the lake, straining his eyes to see where the small boat was.

Finally he found it, heading south, toward the Treva River, no doubt. He took a shuddering sigh. The furthest the river could take the bandits was Lake Honrick. That meant the bandits had to have an encampment along the shore, or around Riften itself. Adrian too several deep breaths, trying to regain some of his composure as he tried not to imagine what Mella would have to endure before he found her again.

Because he would find her, he determined that as he stared out over the lake. He would find his wife, and bring her home, and never, ever let her from his sight again. At first light he would head to Riften, keeping an eye out for any clue along the way and an ear out for any gossip. He would ask the Jarl of Riften for the bandits they had a bounty out on. Then he would go to each in turn until he found Mella. He would not stop. He would never stop, not until he found her.

On the edge of the lake he vowed that to himself, and to the divines. Eventually he could stare out no more, and he moved, intending to head back towards the woodland thicket. Before he could, though, a blow struck him so hard on the back of his head that he slumped to his knees. His head spinning he tried to push himself back up to his feet. Before he could struggle upright another blow smashed into the back of the head.

All he knew was darkness as he fell face first towards the lake.

* * *

“Here, miss, we will rest for the night,” the canvas was pulled aside to reveal the merchant.

“Where?” she asked him, wondering how far along the road they had travelled. She had not dared to peek out of the canvas since they had trundled away from Solitude, beyond paranoid that she would see guards bearing down on the wagon.

“Rorikstead,” the merchant told her, holding his hand out to help her down from the wagon. She allowed him to do so, trying to push aside the feelings of guilt. Agreeing to transport her had put him in inexplicable danger – though he did not know it. If anyone did catch up with them, then he would soon find himself on the gallows, of that she had no doubt.

Paranoid, she glanced in all directions, squinting into the darkness and seeing nothing to pique her suspicions. She tried to breathe. _If_ they had discovered her missing, she was sure they would search every nook and cranny of the city before sending guards out. They would not want to let anyone know they had lost her unless they really had to. By then, with the luck of the divines, she would be safe in Riften, and no one would think to look for her there.

“I know the inn keep,” the merchant interrupted her thoughts. “He will only charge us a few septims for bed and board. Unless you would prefer to stay here in the wagon?”

Really, she thought she ought to try and conserve what coin she had. However, the thought of staying outside alone in the back of a cold wagon made her shudder. She was not used to such things, not yet at least. By the end of this journey, she imagined she would. Not tonight, though. Tonight she needed a good night of rest and a good feed so she was able to think clearly.

“The inn will be most welcome,” she replied to the merchant.

“This way,” he gestured for her to walk at his side. She fell into step with him, feeling guilty all over again. She had chosen him because he looked young, able to protect her should anything happen on the road. It was wrong to use him in such a way, she knew that, but she had to think about herself if she wanted any hope of returning home one day. “Forgive my rudeness,” he spoke again. “I have not asked your name…”

“Bess,” the name came before she could think on it. She had not even thought of a false name for herself until this moment, and she scolded herself for being so stupid. Bess probably wouldn’t have been her first choice, if she had had more time to think, but the name had slipped from her now and she could not take it back.

“Hallam,” he responded, and she forced a smile. “After you,” he gestured for her to walk up the steps of the inn ahead of her.

She was wary of turning her back on anyone, but she went ahead anyway. Should Hallam have wanted to attack her he had had plenty of opportunity along the open road. She doubted very much that he would do so now outside a bustling inn.

Inside she went, unable to help the sigh of satisfaction that left her as the warmth of the raging fire washed over her. A bard was playing a soft lament in the glow of the flames, and her eyes lingered on him for a moment as Hallam moved passed her and greeted the man she assumed to be the inn keep. They grasped hands firmly, exchanging smiling greetings and claps on the shoulder. She watched until Hallam looked over towards her and beckoned her forwards.

“There’s only one room left, you take it,” he said as she approached.

“Oh…” she wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head. “Come, let’s sit. He will bring broth and bread, and ale should you want it.”

“Thank you,” she said again, making her way to the most secluded table in the inn.

Hallam settled down opposite her, and she casually glanced towards the door before trying to relax. She drummed her fingertips against the table top, wondering if she should try and strike up some conversation with him. As she looked towards him he scratched at his dirty blonde beard. Now she could seem him the light again she could appreciate just how young he was. He must have less than thirty years, she would wager. Perhaps he had a wife and young family…Guilt washed over her again, and she swallowed hard.

“What is drawing you to Riften?” Hallam asked.

“Family,” she lied.

“Ah,” he nodded as though that was what he had assumed.

“They are in Shor’s Stone, but Riften is close enough for my uncle to come on business. He will take me the rest of the way,” she told him.

“Then what had you in Solitude?” Hallam asked.

“The Bard’s College,” another lie slipped from the tongue. It wouldn’t be the first time a young woman had left a small village to try and seek her fortune in one of the big cities. “I suppose I have a talent for singing,” that, at least, was true. “I thought I might be good enough, but my fortune ran out. I took what was left and decided to return home.”

“Cut your losses? Smart girl,” he tilted his head towards her.

“What about you? Do you travel often?” she asked.

“As often as need be, I am but a humble merchant and I need the coin to keep my wife happy,” he said, a wry smile on his lips.

“Smart man,” she quipped before she could stop herself, and his smile widened.

“Are you not warm, with that cloak on?” Hallam asked as the inn keep came by their table with a tray laden with two bowls of broth, two large rolls of bread and a flagon of ale with two tankards. “Thank you,” Hallam nodded towards him, and she offered the older man a smile.

“Enjoy yourselves,” the inn keep said before moving away.

She smiled slightly at Hallam as he placed one of the bowls in front of her, taking the bread he offered before she set it at the side of the bowl of broth and moved her hands to untie the cloak that was still pulled up over her head. Hallam had drawn her attention to it. She was wary of being recognised, but at the same time she risked drawing more attention to herself by appearing mysterious. Best she appeared comfortable and with nothing untoward to hide.

Hallam’s eyes widened slightly as she lowered her hood. She swallowed hard, not missing the fleeting look in his eyes. That was not a look that made her feel comfortable – lust, longing. He had a wife, she was naively hoping that would keep her safe from his baser desires. Perhaps he did not love her? She studiously spooned broth into her mouth, taking comfort from the warmth of it sliding down her throat. As soon as she had eaten her meal she would excuse herself. Hopefully the doors on the rooms here had locks.

Perhaps she was being paranoid, when she looked back up from her bowl Hallam seemed more interested in the bard. He turned back towards her in a moment and offered a smile. She responded with good grace, not wanting to appear anything other than relaxed.

“We leave at first light tomorrow,” Hallam told her.

“Then best I retire,” she responded, and he nodded, eyes lingering on her a moment longer than she liked as she rose up from the table.

She offered a final small smile before approaching the inn keep to ask the way to the room. He pointed her in the right direction and she made her way there, slipping into the room before closing the door firmly behind her. She was pleased to see that there was indeed a lock, and she slid it across before finally feeling her body relax. It was only now that she realised she had been tense all day. Slowly she observed her new surroundings.

The room was small, but clean. There was a freshly made bed and a dresser with a looking glass above it. There were a few trinkets dotted about the place, but nothing that looked like it had much value. She sighed, removing her cloak before sinking down onto the bed. One thing was for certain, it was not home. She unclipped her coin purse from her belt, drawing the strings open and examining the contents. Over half her coin would be gone when she paid Hallam for the journey to Riften.

She tried not to let that worry her, her fingers slipping over the amulet that was also stored in the purse. The last thing she wanted to do was sell it, it had belonged to her father after all. If it came to it, though… Well, if it came to it she would have to. Her only other asset of value was tucked down the front of her dress, and she would have to be desperate indeed to sell it. It was not just the sentimental value of it having been a gift from her father, it also gave away her true name.

She pulled on the chain, revealing the heavy, silver locket on the end of it. The front was decorated with sapphires and emeralds that glimmered enticingly in the candlelight. She adored it. She had adored it since it had been presented to her on her sixteenth name day. The only sour point had been her mother practically grinding her teeth. Her mother usually put on the perfect show, but that day her mask had almost slipped.

She sighed, turning the locket over and smiling slightly at the inscription on the back. Tears welled in her eyes as she read the engraving over and over again. She missed her father so much that it ached in places she hadn’t known existed. What she wouldn’t give to have him back. What she wouldn’t give to get her hands on the man who had taken him away from her. The man who had ruined everything. She clenched her fist hard around the locket and closed her eyes to stop the tears from falling.

Even so, the words still flashed behind her eyes…

_Love, always, to my darling, Ayda._

 


	2. Beast

* * *

Adrian came round, feeling a slight rocking motion beneath him. He kept his eyes closed, his head throbbing painfully. At least he was alive, he supposed. So long as he was alive he had some hope of getting out of this mess and finding Mella. That was all he could think about – finding Mella. Slowly he became aware of murmurs around him, and concluded that he was not alone. He also became aware that his hands were bound at the wrists, resting in his lap. Was he a prisoner?

There was only one way to find out, he supposed – he opened his eyes.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a blonde man in Stormcloak armour was sat opposite him, hands bound.

“What is this?” Adrian asked, his voice slightly slurred.

“What it looks like, friend,” the man answered him.

“Where are we going?” he asked next.

“To the block, I imagine. Curse these Imperial bastards,” the man spat on the floor of the cart.

Adrian turned his head slowly, taking in more of his surroundings. There was a man in a dirty, rough spun tunic sat next to him, hands bound and terror in his eyes. On one side of the man who had spoken to him was another Stormcloak, and on the other, a gagged man in fine robes. Adrian frowned slightly, wondering why he was in such a situation, and where exactly this cart was taking them…

“What is your name?” the man asked, recalling his attention.

“Adrian,” he answered truly. He didn’t see the point in lying. He had done nothing wrong. Yes, he had killed – but they were bandits. The Jarls encouraged such a thing. He was protecting his home and attempting to protect his wife. When they arrived at their destination he would just explain that, and they would be sure to let him go. He was no Stormcloak, rebelling against the Empire. Not that he didn’t have sympathy with their cause, he was just not foolish enough to adorn himself in their colours. Especially not after what Ulfric Stormcloak had done to the High King.

“Ralof,” the man returned, and he nodded his head in his direction, the action making it throb.

Adrian made no attempt to continue the conversation, instead looking around him again, seeing that they were approaching a settlement. He frowned slightly, it was not somewhere that he recognised, though he was not a very well-travelled man. In the back of his mind he had been hoping they would be taking prisoners to Riften – it appeared his hopes had been futile.

“Helgen,” Ralof announced. 

“Why are we being taken here?” his comrade asked. 

“Because it is small and out of the way,” Ralof spat, again. “They would not even give the Jarl the courtesy of being executed in front of a crowd. It is because they know the crowd would rise up – they know the crowd would be on our side. On the side of freedom.”

Jarl? Adrian frowned at that, glancing towards the gagged man in the fine robes. By, Ysmir, could he possibly be Ulfric himself?

He wondered whether he should ask, but decided against it. Best it not look as though he had any affiliation with these men. If the Imperial Legates believed him to be part of the Rebellion then he would be heading to the block with them. He could not die, not when Mella needed him.

They were coming through the gates into Helgen now, and Adrian looked around, taking in his surroundings. It was a larger settlement that Ivarstead – though not much larger. He supposed Ralof was right, there would not be a large crowd here to come witness to the death of Ulfric Stormcloak and his men. Adrian wondered if it would mean an end to the Civil War. He supposed it would, without a leader the Stormcloaks would likely be in disarray. The Imperials surely would not have much trouble ending the Rebellion after that.

“Used to be sweet on a girl from here,” Ralof spoke softly and wistfully.

No one made any comment, the cart slowly trundling into the large courtyard outside the keep. There were Imperial soldiers lining the space, with two stood waiting as the cart came to a halt. From their superior armour Adrian could only guess that these were the two in charge. There was another soldier closer to the cart, with auburn hair and a battle worn face. Adrian looked around the courtyard again, his stomach lurching nastily when he saw the masked headsman.

“Damn Thalmor everywhere,” Ralof muttered, and Adrian did indeed eye several Thalmor elves surrounding the man with the finest armour.

“Headsman is ready, General Tullius,” the female soldier addressed him.

“Good, the let’s get this over with,” the General almost sounded bored as he and the Thalmor walked slowly towards the block.

“Prisoners, one at a time!” the woman barked.

Adrian slowly rose up with the rest of them, taking his place at the back of the line. Ralof and his comrade, whose name Adrian discovered was Gunjar, were first off the cart. First to be sent towards the chopping block. Again, Adrian’s stomach lurched, and he looked towards the auburn haired man who was reading the names from a list. Surely his name wasn’t on there? It couldn’t be, could it?

“Lokir, of Rorikstead,” the man said next, and the trembling man in the tunic stepped down from the cart. Adrian moved further forward. “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,” the name was said with barely disguised contempt. The Jarl stepped down without even attempting to speak through his gag. He seemed accepting. Adrian wasn’t. Adrian needed to tell these Imperials that they were making a mistake. He was no rebel.

Lokir was protesting the same thing now, though it seemed no one was listening to him. The divines help him. Adrian was consumed with a sense of dread as he stepped off the cart to come face to face with the man with the list. His brow furrowed as he looked in Adrian’s direction, and he glanced down at his list before looking back at him – their eyes meeting.

“Name?” he asked.

“Adrian, of Ivarstead,” Adrian replied as steadily as he could manage.

“This prisoner is not on the list!” the man reported to the woman near-by. She turned.

“Forget the list, Hadvar,” she said sharply. “He goes to the block with the others.”

Adrian felt himself go cold, opening his mouth to protest, though no words seemed able to escape his mouth. The man with the list, Hadvar, looked at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” he sounded sincere, “at least you will die here, in your homeland.”

Adrian did not take much comfort in that, merely walking numbly to where the others were waiting. There were more bound Stormcloaks now, likely come from other carts that he had not noticed before. They all wore a near identical look – that of grim acceptance. Adrian still felt numb, his only thought of Mella, and how he was breaking the promise to find her.

Perhaps he would see her in Sovenguard. He looked up towards the sun.

At that moment there was a scuffle, and he snapped his head back to see Lokir breaking rank and running across the courtyard.

“Halt!” the female Imperial shouted.

Lokir kept running.

“Archers!” she commanded.

In the next moment an arrow flew square into Lokir’s back and sending him crashing head first into the flagstones. Adrian winced despite himself, and a few of the Stormcloaks around him muttered darkly.

“Anyone else feel like running?!” the woman asked, and no one moved. “First prisoner!” she barked.

A priestess stood next to the headsman began reciting a prayer to the divines as one of the Stormcloak soldiers made his way to the block. “Let’s get this over with, for the love of Talos,” the rebel snapped and the priestess cut off.

“As you wish,” she said in a disgruntled manner.

“My ancestors are smiling on me, and Sovenguard awaits. Can you say the same, Imperials?” the prisoner asked unflinchingly, kneeling down before the block and laying his head down against it.

Adrian forced himself to watch as the man’s head was cut from his shoulders.

“Imperial bastards!” several Stormcloaks jeered.

“As fearless in death as he was in life,” Ralof lamented at Adrian’s side. He said nothing in response.

“Next, Adrian of Ivarstead,” the woman barked.

Now was the time. Now was the time he needed to protest – to tell them that they could not do this. He had committed no crime other than to protect himself and try and protect his wife. The men he had killed were bandits. He should be thanked, not punished! Yet still he walked towards the block, his mouth dry and unable to conjure up any words of protest.

Perhaps this was the best way, the way it ought to be. Likely Mella was already dead. It would be a blessing and a relief to join her.

He knelt, as a deafening roar shook the sky. The very air around him seemed to ripple. Even so he lay his head on the block as questions rose up around him. He could feel the still warm blood of the executed Stormcloak against his neck. The smell filling his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a moment to try and quell the nausea.

When he opened them again a pair of scaled claws crashed down onto the battlements. He rolled away from the block as an almighty scream came from the mouth of the beast. His head pounded. He was dazed as uproar erupted around him. Surely, it could not be?

Dragon?

No. Dragons had not been seen in Skyrim in living memory. They were long gone. Long ago.

“Get up! Come on, Adrian! Get yourself up, the Gods will not give us another chance!” it was Ralof, and Adrian blinked him back into focus before registering exactly what he was saying.

Somehow he stumbled back up to his feet, running unsteadily from the block after Ralof. He was heading into the keep and Adrian stumbled in after him. There were other Stormcloaks here, Jarl Ulfric among them.

“Was that really a dragon?” one of them asked. No one answered him.

“We need to get out of here,” another said.

That made sense to Adrian. This was his chance. The Imperial soldiers must be concentrating on trying to fight of the – _dragon_ – it still felt ridiculous to even think it. With the soldiers distracted then he may have a chance of getting out of here. All he needed to do was get beyond the walls and hide somewhere until he was sure the danger had passed. Then, under the cover of darkness, he could somehow try and make his way back to Ivarstead. From there, he could continue with his original plan to find Mella.

He blinked. He was wasting time here. The Stormcloaks seemed to be discussing their own escape amongst themselves. He hesitated. Ought he to stay with them? Might be that it would be easier with them? Then again, if the Imperials caught up with them again then there would be no way he could deny his guilt. If he was found with rebels then he was as good as dead. No, he would have to go this alone.

He looked between the door of the tower and the stairs. The choice was heading back out into the open chaos of the Imperials fighting the dragon, or take the chance of fleeing up the stairs and trying to find a way across one of the galleries or battlements. An almighty roar from outside made his mind up for him. Before he could think too much on it he went for the stairs, moving as quickly as he could with his hands still bound.

Halfway up there a barrage of flames burst through the wall of the tower and he threw himself back against the stone wall. The heat was near unbearable, and from the stench filling his nostrils he guessed that the ends of his hair was burned. The flames ceased, but before he could allow himself any relief the stones above gave out, coming tumbling down to block his access up the stairs.

From below he could now hear the sound of fighting, the clash of metal. His heart pounded. He could not go up, and it appeared that now he could not go down either. The only choice left to him was through the open hole in the tower wall.

His heart hammered against his ribcage as he took tiny steps towards the edge. He looked down and his stomach lurched. He had not realised he had got so far up the stairs. Taking deep breaths he looked properly out of the hole, seeing a house opposite with the roof half caved in. He looked through, the beams still slightly aflame and smoking. If he jumped through there he might manage to get out without doing himself serious injury. However, those beams did not look safe. If he got this wrong he could run the risk of crashing through onto the ground floor and hurting, or even killing, himself.

Still, what choice did he have? Certain death waited at the bottom of the stairs. Had it not been for the dragon he would be dead already. At this point he had nothing to lose. This was the only choice left to him, his only chance to get out and search for Mella.

He moved his toes to the edge, cautiously glancing around for any sign of the dragon before he took a deep breath and prepared to leap.

* * *

Ayda couldn’t help but peek out of the back of the canvas as they passed through Falkreath in the early afternoon. She had worried that their journey may lead them to spending the night in the hold capital, but thankfully it had not coincided with nightfall. Staying here in Falkreath would have been beyond dangerous. She had asked Hallam, in what she hoped had been a casual manner, if he had any business to conduct there – given that it was a larger settlement.

Thankfully, he had said he did not, that they would just travel straight through. From what Ayda could see through the tiny gap she allowed, everything seemed normal. None of the guards appeared to be on any kind of special alert. That made her breathe a little easier and she allowed the canvas to drop back into place, edging back in the cart so she could sit herself on Hallam’s mattress again.

She could tell when the pace of the cart picked up again, and she knew that they must have passed through Falkreath and be on the open road again. Several minutes later the motion slowed again, and she frowned, her body tensing.

“By, Ysmir!” she heard Hallam explain disbelievingly.

“What?!” she asked, trying not to sound too panicked as the cart came to a halt.

Hallam didn’t respond and so she scrambled herself up and got down from the back of the cart. As she dropped down she saw Hallam dropping down off the front, his eyes staring ahead as he took several steps forward. Ayda followed his progress, her eyes widening as she saw exactly what had caught his attention.

Smoke was billowing high up into the sky in the distance. She stared, mouth slightly agape. The smoke was thick and black, seemingly rising up higher than the mountains behind it. “What is it?” Ayda asked, stunned.

“Helgen,” Hallam said with dazed certainty.

“Truly?” she asked, looking from the smoke to him.

“Yes, there’s nowhere else large enough to burn that high,” he said darkly.

“But…how?” she asked.

“The gods only know,” Hallam replied. “But there will be guards swarming up from Falkreath soon enough. Best we call it a day for now, get ourselves to somewhere safe and get off this road. Come on.”

For once Ayda did not retreat to the back of the cart, instead pulling herself up onto the front next to Hallam and pulling up her hood. Hallam shook the reins and clicked his tongue, spurring the horses into action. Ayda could look at nothing but the burning Helgen. How was such a thing to have happened to such a settlement? It could not be an accident. Could it be the war? Could it really have escalated so quickly without anyone knowing? Surely not, not when Falkreath itself had seemed so calm.

Could the Rebellion had moved so swiftly, and without warning? Did the Imperial army not have spies? How could it happen? Ayda did not believe that it could, and if she was right, then what in the name of the divines had set Helgen aflame?

A few minutes later Hallam was steering the cart into a sheltered clearing on the right side of the road. A low cliff and a cluster of trees would block them from the western wind that was blowing. To the east they could still see the burning Helgen. Ayda slipped down from the cart as Hallam uncoupled the horses and moved to tether them to a nearby tree. There was a small stream trickling that they could drink from.

Ayda’s own mouth felt dry, but she could still not tear her eyes away from the smoke in the distance. It seemed to be lessening – the fire burning down, perhaps?

“Here, you should eat,” Hallam offered her a stale roll and an apple.

She took them, sinking down onto a nearby rock. Hallam watched her a moment, looking as though he was wavering on the brink of saying something. She tried to smile at him before pulling a piece from the roll and popping it into her mouth. As she chewed slowly she tried to keep her eyes from Helgen, but they kept being pulled back there – almost of their own accord.

Hallam sat himself down and tore into a roll of his own. They ate in silence, and in the distance the sounds of several sets of hooves against stone grew louder and louder. Falkreath guards, she would stake her life on it. Clearly the sentries had seen the smoke rising from Helgen. Hallam looked towards the rode, and she used his distraction to take the opportunity to pull her hood further over her head. She needn’t have worried, the cluster of two dozen guards thundered passed without sparing a second glance for her or Hallam.

“What do you think happened?” she asked Hallam, curiosity getting the better of her.

“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “I just hope that it is not the war coming to our door.”

“But what else could it be?” she persisted.

“I don’t know that, either,” he replied.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” she said quietly, before sinking her teeth into the sharp apple.

“Perhaps we’ll find out, when the guards return,” Hallam said.

“Yes,” Ayda agreed. “Perhaps we will.”

* * *

Adrian crouched down in the undergrowth, Hadvar at his side. The Imperial soldier had cut his binds and watched his back as they had escaped Helgen. Adrian was now clad in ill-fitting Imperial armour with a half rusted iron sword in one hand and a battered hide shield in the other. Both were blood-stained. Stormcloaks had attacked them on their long-winded way through the keep. Adrian had not wanted to kill them, having been captured just as they had been, but they had taken one look at him with Hadvar and been unrelenting. He did not even want to think about the spiders…

They had emerged into the light eventually, throwing themselves down into the undergrowth when a roar and the beat of huge wings sounded above them. Only when the shrieks faded into the distance did they rise up to their knees, watching the silhouette of the dragon slowly disappearing behind the faraway mountains. Adrian took a breath, his heart pounding once more against his ribcage, the only thing that told him he was still alive.

Dragon. He had survived. Survived a dragon attack, somehow, with his life and his limbs intact. If that was not a sign from the divines then he did not know what was. He had his life, and he vowed to use it to find Mella. Whatever it took, no matter how long it took. He would find her, and he would kill those who had taken her from him. He swore it now on the clear skies and the smoke filled air. He swore it on the ground he was kneeling on and the faint sound of water trickling somewhere near-by. Most of all he swore on his own life, and all he possessed.

He would find her.

“I think it’s gone,” Hadvar pulled his attention, and they slowly rose to their feet.

“I should, too,” Adrian said.

“Back to Ivarstead?” Hadvar asked.

“Where else?” he shrugged.

“A dragon has attacked Helgen,” Hadvar said. “We may be the only two survivors. I beg you, friend, to travel with me. They may not believe my word alone.”

“I’ve wasted enough time,” Adrian said. “I have to find my wife.”

“My sympathies,” he said, his features pained. “But this could destroy all of Skyrim, your wife included.”

“If she is not already destroyed,” Adrian muttered darkly.

“I am sorry, friend,” Hadvar responded. “If you would just accompany me to Riverwood and bear witness, I would ask no more of you. Riverwood is a small, defenceless town – they need to be warned, you must understand that?”

“Fine,” Adrian said reluctantly. “I will come with you to Riverwood, but then I’m going home.”

“Thank you, friend,” he replied. “Come, if we hurry we should make Riverwood by nightfall.”

* * *

Ayda shrieked as Hallam pulled her down to the ground, but he stifled her cry with his hand. His grip was so strong that she could barely breathe and she moved her hands up to claw at his wrist.

“Quiet,” he hissed in her ear, pulling her into the undergrowth under cover of the small thicket of trees.

Her instinct told her to fight against him, but then her eyes landed on the sky, widening so much she thought they may fall from their sockets. She stopped squirming and scratching against Hallam and he moved his hand away from her mouth. Ayda gasped in air greedily, her eyes fixed on the sky. Surely she could not be seeing what she thought she was seeing?

“Is – that -?” she gasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Hallam returned, the word dripping half in wonder and half in terror.

“But -,” she started.

“I know,” he returned.

“Do you think that’s what burned Helgen?” she asked, as the shadow of the massive beast crossed their hiding place.

“Either that or one hell of a coincidence,” Hallam answered.

“By the divines,” she almost choked.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” he said, shifting about and half rising so he could look in the directing in which the dragon had flown. “We ought to head back to Falkreath, shelter behind strong walls.”

“No!” Ayda got to her own feet, grabbing hold of his arm. “We can’t go back there. You’ve seen what that thing did to Helgen – a settlement with _walls!_ We are much better out on the open road where there are plenty of places to hide and far less to attract such a beast. We need to go _forwards._ ”

“Bess -,” he looked exasperated.

“You know I’m right,” she cut him off. “Besides, that _thing_ was flying straight for Falkreath.”

“And you think it’s the only one?” he shot back.

“I don’t -,” she shook her head.

“There cannot be only one. It cannot have come from nowhere!” he almost shouted at her.

“But it is more likely to be drawn to a settlement than the open!” she shouted back. “I am paying you to take me to Riften, not Falkreath. We cannot afford to go backwards, _I_ cannot afford to go backwards, especially not there!”

“Why especially not there?” Hallam asked her suspiciously, and she cursed herself. “Bess?!”

“Because, I – I – just need to get to Riften, alright?!” she stammered out.

“You’re lying to me,” he looked her dead in the eye.

“What do you care, you’re getting your coin, aren’t you?!” she turned away from him.

“What have you led me into?!” he demanded.

“Nothing! I have led you into nothing! The danger is behind me, not ahead!”

“So there is danger?” he grasped her shoulders, his tone softer now.

“Not if you get me to Riften and I disappear. No one need ever know we crossed paths. But the longer we are together the more likely someone will catch up with me, and if they do it will not just be me they drag back to Solitude,” she told him, holding his eyes.

“What have you done?” he asked her, his brow furrowing.

 “Nothing,” she said. “Believe me, I did nothing but escape a situation I should never have been in. Now, please, Hallam, for your own sake – do not ask me any more questions!”


	3. Detour

 

* * *

Hadvar set a steady pace as they made their way towards Riverwood. Adrian was glad of it. The sooner they got there, the sooner he could swear to what he had seen at Helgen and then get on his way again. He had to get down to Riften as soon as possible if he were to find any clue whatsoever about where those bastards had taken Mella.

“You said you were from Ivarstead,” Hadvar commented.

“Riften, as a boy. Been two years a smith in Ivarstead,” Adrian replied.

“Then what found you at Helgen?” Hadvar asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “A mistake, I suppose. I was pursuing a group of bandits who made off with my wife. I killed two of them, but the others got away with her. Next thing I knew I’d been hit over the head. When I came to I was in that damned cart. I should be in Riften now, asking the Jarl for information on nearby bandit camps.”

“Not trailing me to Riverwood and swearing you’d seen a demon in the sky,” Hadvar said astutely, obviously picking up on his bitter tone.

“I know it’s important,” Adrian conceded.

“But so is your wife,” Hadvar said softly.

“I never deserved her,” he was bitter once more. “Not ever, everyone knew she could have married higher than me. Had a more comfortable life than the one she had cooking and cleaning for me. But damn it – I love her more than they ever could, and for some reason she loved – _loves –_ me too. I have to find her, I have no other choice.”

“I wish you all the luck of the Gods, friend. May the divines guide you,” Hadvar said sincerely.

“Thank you,” Adrian replied, unwilling to say any more. He already felt as though he had said too much. They continued on in silence for a long while, until Hadvar broke it again.

“See there,” he pointed. “Standing stones.”

“I’ve heard of these, never seen one though…” Adrian was curious despite himself.

“Three here,” Hadvar said, slowing to a halt next to the tall standing stones that were arranged in a rough kind of circle.

“What do they do?” Adrian asked, moving closer and inspecting the carving on the closest one.

“Legend says they offer special powers, to help one rewrite their fate,” Hadvar answered.

“What do these offer?” he asked, eyes roving between the three of them.

“These are the Mage Stone, the Warrior Stone and the Thief Stone,” Hadvar told him. “They do not respond to just anyone’s touch, though. Blessings are rare.”

“Have you been blessed?” Adrian enquired.

“No,” Hadvar said. “Though you are more than welcome to try, but choose quickly, we need to get on if we want to reach Riverwood by morning.”

“Aye,” Adrian said, moving towards the Warrior Stone. If he were to receive any blessing, he would be most glad of this one considering where he was headed after Riverwood. Slowly he reached out his hand to touch the stone, not expecting anything would happen and almost flinching back when he felt the stone almost hot under his touch. He kept his hand touched to the stone and felt a rush of heat up his arm, a burst of light seemingly moving from the stone to him.

The next thing he knew the stone had gone cold under his touch and he staggered backwards, looking towards Hadvar in astonishment.

“Did you -?” he stammered out.

“I did,” Hadvar replied. “You have been blessed, you are one of the few. I have never seen such a thing with my own eyes before – only heard the tales of others. You must have a great destiny ahead of you, Adrian.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, moving away from the stones and falling into step with Hadvar again, heading down the hill towards the river. “I would just settle for getting my wife back and returning home. I was never one for adventure.”

“Sometimes these things choose us,” Hadvar said, and he snorted.

“Aye, but does that mean we have to listen?” Adrian countered.

“I suppose not, but it would be a shame to waste such a gift,” Hadvar said seriously. “A man of your skill would be most welcome in the Imperial Legion.”

“You mean the Imperial Legion who just tried to behead me for committing no crime?” he spat.

“I would vouch for you, clear your name,” Hadvar responded, and Adrian shook his head.

“I want no part of either side of the war,” Adrian said.

“All of Skyrim will have to choose a side in the end, there is no escaping it. War is coming, whether we like it or not. Now that Ulfric has escaped I do not see how we will avoid it for much longer,” Hadvar said tiredly.

“Do you not think this dragon is a more pressing worry?” Adrian asked.

“It certainly does nothing to un-complicate matters,” Hadvar replied.

“What will be done about it?” Adrian pressed.

“That is not for me to decide. I am a mere soldier – this will be decided by generals and Jarls. I will merely carry out their orders, as is my duty,” Hadvar said.

“Well, whatever they decide, I hope it is the right decision,” Adrian said.

“So do I, friend, so do I,” Hadvar said with a sigh. “Here, we are almost upon Riverwood.”

* * *

Hallam woke first, poking at the dying embers of the fire to spark them back to life before throwing a few more scraps of wood onto it before it ignited slowly again. He sighed as he poked it once more, looking towards the sleeping girl opposite him. Her hood had slipped down, revealing her pale, golden hair which seemed to glimmer even this most faint light of dawn. She was incredibly beautiful, and there was something nagging at the back of his mind telling him that he had in fact seen her before. It had been plaguing him since they had stopped at the inn at Rorikstead and she had lowered her hood for the first time.

There was something. He just could not place it. Perhaps it was just because she was so beautiful. It was distracting. Ridiculously distracting. He had to keep reminding himself he had a wife, and that Bess – if her name really was Bess, which he doubted – was very young and clearly very vulnerable. He wondered what had happened in Solitude that had driven her to seek passage to the other side of the country. It was pointless asking her. All she kept telling him was that it was better that he didn’t know anything – for his own safety.

From that he was almost certain that she was embroiled in something dangerous. He remembered her plain clothes and the unexpected amount of coin she was carrying with her. Had she stolen it? She didn’t strike him as a thief. In fact, he would wager that the coin belonged to her, which only made her plain clothing even more of a mystery. Bess was well spoken, carried herself with an effortless grace, and was incredibly well presented. Her beauty was well maintained, not rugged and subtle in a way that honest country girls looked.

No, he would have to guess that she was well born. Noble born, even. He sighed. What had he got himself into by agreeing to give her passage? More than that, how could he just leave her in Riften alone? That place was dangerous, and he knew damn well she was lying about having family there. If she was left alone then he imagined she may wash up dead in the Ratway within a few weeks. He shuddered. That was not a fate for any young girl, how was expected to just leave her to it?

Perhaps he could persuade her to go somewhere else, somewhere safer?

She was stirring awake in the next moment and he fixed a small smile on his face and she rose up into a sitting position and stretched her back. Clearly she was not used to rough sleeping, as she grimaced in pain, rubbing her shoulder gingerly.

“Got some bread left, if you want some?” he offered.

“Thank you,” she replied, voice hoarse as she staggered up to her feet and went towards the cart. He watched her rummage in the sack in which he kept his food, seeing her pull out a roll of stale bread before coming to settle herself down by the fire.

“I’ll see if I can’t catch us some fish along the way,” Hallam said.

“We’ll pass Helgen, won’t we?” Bess asked him with wide eyes.

“Aye,” he answered.

“You don’t think – that – dragon…?” she asked.

“It’s burned Helgen to the ground, and likely all those within. I doubt it will be coming back this way again – there’s nothing for it,” he said.

“I hope you’re right,” she said fearfully, looking in the direction of Helgen where there were still faint spirals of smoke rising up from the site.

“We’ll pass by quickly, and then stop off and try and catch some fish, alright?” he raised his brows.

“Alright,” she agreed, looking more placated as she tucked properly into the bread roll.

* * *

Sigrid and Alvor had been incredibly kind, their daughter practically bouncing around the room and asking them all kinds of questions about Helgen and the dragon. Thankfully Alvor had shooed his daughter away, telling her not to ask so many questions. Adrian was glad of it, already he was unsure of how he would ever sleep again with the image of that beast behind his eyes.

“Here you are, if you want more, just ask,” Sigrid said, setting a rough wooden bowl of broth in front of him. It looked hearty and smelled delicious. Adrian was sure that he likely would indeed want more. “And there’s some bread here,” she added, placing a plate of rolls in the centre of the table. He reached for one at the same time as Hadvar, and they grinned at one another. Adrian felt slightly guilty at the action – but after everything he had been through over the last few days it felt rather good to smile. Good to know he was still capable of it.

“Thank you,” Adrian managed, his mouth half full of the thick stew.

“Any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of ours,” Alvor said.

“You’re welcome to stay here tonight, to rest up,” Sigrid said kindly.

“Thank you,” Adrian said again.

“The Jarl needs to be told about his, Hadvar,” Alvor said seriously.

“Aye,” Hadvar agreed with him, spooning more broth into his own mouth.

“Will you go?” Alvor asked.

“I can’t. I have to get back to the Legion, back to Solitude. General Tullius was at Helgen, he may well have been killed in the attack. The Legion needs to regroup, so we can stay ahead in this war – especially now Ulfric has escaped. I can’t afford to take a detour to Whiterun. Could I take your horse, uncle?” Hadvar raised his brows at Alvor.

“Of course, son,” Alvor nodded, brow furrowed. “But someone must tell the Jarl. I cannot afford to leave the forge, and Sigrid cannot…not on those roads.”

“No,” Hadvar agreed, eyes flickering towards Adrian.

“I’ll go,” Adrian sighed heavily.

“Are you sure, friend? Your wife…” Hadvar shook his head.

“Is long gone and I have no leads. I can always ask the Jarl of Whiterun if he knows of any bounties – anywhere they may have taken her. I know it is not likely, but there is no harm in asking,” Adrian said.

“I suppose not,” Hadvar said.

“But in return, I need you to give me your word that you will clear my name with your Legion. I don’t want soldiers and Thalmor out for my blood – I have enough to deal with as it is,” Adrian said, holding his eyes.

“Of course, you have my word. I give it gladly,” Hadvar said.

“Then I suppose I will be off to Whiterun,” Adrian said heavily. “If you would be kind enough to point me in the right direction…”

“Now?” Sigrid asked in alarm. “But you have only just got here, you must rest!”

“You have survived a dragon attack, son. Take some more food and have some sleep. I will wake you at dawn if you like?” Alvor said.

“If I leave now how long will it take me?” Adrian asked, ignoring the suggestion.

“You’ll be there by morning if you keep a steady pace,” Hadvar answered, though it sounded reluctant.

“Where am I going?” Adrian asked next.

“Straight through the village and over the bridge,” Alvor said. “Take the right road and follow it until you come to a fork. Take the left side and follow it down. It will be obvious from there, you won’t be able to miss a settlement the size of Whiterun.”

“Thank you,” Adrian said, spooning the last of the broth into his mouth before letting the spoon drop into the bowl. “Thank you for everything. You’ve been kind, but I’ll be getting out of your way now.”

“You are welcome here any time, son,” Alvor said.

“Yes, there is always a hot meal and a warm bed here for you,” Sigrid added.

“Thank you,” Adrian said again, feeling almost overwhelmed by their kindness. Strangely it reminded him of Mella. It was just the sort of thing she would offer. He had lost count of the times he had come in from a day at the forge to find she was feeding pilgrims as well as him. She would always say she liked to hear their stories, that a hot meal was the least she could offer before they began their journey up the seven thousand steps.

He would always roll his eyes at her, but truly he didn’t mind. It made her feel useful, and gave her new people to talk to. She needed that, she missed the busyness of Riften, and all the friends she had had at the market. He closed his eyes for a moment before rising abruptly up to his feet.

“You’ve been kind, perhaps we shall meet again someday,” Adrian said, heading for the door.

“May the divines smile on you, friend,” Alvor said.

Adrian let himself out of the house, taking the steps down onto the road and inhaling the cooling night air. Behind him he heard the door open again, and he turned back, resisting the urge to just keep walking. Hadvar was stood there, and he descended the steps as Adrian turned to look at him.

“I hope you find her,” Hadvar said.

“So do I,” Adrian returned.

“You’re a good man. Safe travels,” Hadvar said.

“And yourself, friend,” Adrian replied, nodding towards him.

Hadvar returned the gesture and Adrian moved away, making swift progress down the road that led out of Riverwood. There were a few villagers around, most heading towards the inn, but they paid him no mind. Adrian picked up his pace as he crossed over the bridge, his thoughts drifting to Mella again as he took the right-hand road.

Perhaps taking her to live in Ivarstead had been a mistake. Perhaps it had been selfish of him. It had been his idea, she would have been happier to stay in Riften and live in the little house her father had sought out for them. They had had the coin, Adrian had made enough working with Balimund. Why couldn’t it have been enough for him? Mella had had her stall out on the market, selling clothes she had stitched herself, and little trinkets she had whittled. She was so skilled with her hands, and so creative. He had denied her that when he had moved her away.

He sighed, forcing his feet to move faster even though they were threatening to drag. If he got her back, no – when he got her back – they would move back to Riften, and he would give her the life he never should have taken her from in the first place.

* * *

There was an Imperial camp near-by which had made Ayda nervous at first but she soon settled down when she realised they were paying them little mind. Hallam had indeed caught some fish, and he was cooking them up over the fire now. Ayda had watched him carefully as he had gutted them, and pulled out the bones before tying them up on a stick and hanging them over the fire. She was determined to learn as much as she could from him, without asking outright as she didn’t know how difficult life was going to get for her when she reached Riften and was left all alone.

It would be strange without Hallam, she had grown used to her companion. He seemed to sense when she didn’t want to talk, but was always good company when they did. Thankfully he had not pressed her on what she had said after they had seen the dragon. Ayda had cursed herself ever since, knowing she had almost let too much slip. She was hopeful that he would not work it out from what she had said, and he didn’t seem to want to pry any further, for which she was thankful.

Hallam leant closer to the fire as she watched him, using his small dagger to cut down the fish onto a rough wooden plate. “Help yourself,” he said, offering the plate.

“Thank you,” she replied, picking one of the fish by its tail and pulling it onto her own plate. She blew on her fingers for a moment before pulling the fish apart, a billow of steam coming up from it. Despite how wonderful it smelt she resisted trying to eat it right away, instead waiting for it to cool a little. As she waited she looked up towards the Imperial camp further up the hill that was lit up with several bonfires. She wondered if any of them would recognise her. They were far from Solitude now, and she hoped that she would be safe, but all the same she knew better than to let her guard drop.

“What is it?” Hallam asked.

“What?” she looked at him sharply.

“You’re on edge. What is it?” he asked, eyes meeting hers.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

“Them?” he jerked his head back towards the Imperial camp and she averted her eyes. “They will have been out here for months, whatever you’re running from, I doubt they know about it,” he said in lowered tones.

“But they might know me,” she said quietly.

“I can keep a secret you know,” he said just as quietly.

“I’d rather you didn’t have to,” she said. “You’ve been good to me, Hallam, I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger.”

“No one needs to know that you told me,” he smiled, tucking into his own fish.

“I’d know, and I’d never stop worrying over it. Trust me, it’s better you don’t know. Best you just keep thinking of me as Bess, a simple country girl on her way home to her family,” Ayda said.

“If you’re sure,” Hallam said, flicking a few bones away.

“It’s for your own good, Hallam, believe me,” she said with finality, and he nodded his understanding.

“If you’re certain,” he said. “At least let me look out for you when I have business in Riften.”

“I’d like that,” Ayda told him honestly, meeting his eyes to show him she meant it.

“Friends?” he raised a brow and extended a hand.

“Friends,” she agreed with a smile, reaching out to take his hand.

“Good,” he smiled back. “Now eat that up before it gets cold.”

* * *

Adrian found it disturbingly silent as he approached Whiterun. Dawn had broken at least two hours ago, and he expected to see people milling about the stables. Even the farms he had passed by on the way seemed deserted. The only reason he knew they were not abandoned were the crops growing in their fields. Something was clearly wrong, and he was feeling rather on edge as he approached the gates. At least they were manned so he knew the city itself was not deserted, at least. As he approached the guards made a move closer to him.

“Halt!” one said. “The city is closed due to the dragon attack on Helgen, the doors are to be kept barred – no one comes in or out.”

Great, so they already knew about the attack. Seems he had had a wasted journey. Adrian sighed heavily. Now he had come to a stop he was starting to feel the lack of sleep in his body. There would be taverns in Whiterun, a place he could perhaps find a bed for the night.

“I have news for the Jarl, about the attack – I was at Helgen,” he told them.

They exchanged a glance and Adrian held his breath.

“Very well,” the second guard said. “We will make an exception.”

Adrian tried not to look too relieved, or too pleased with himself, as one of the guards moved to unlock the heavy wooden gates. He had never been to Whiterun before, and it occurred to him that perhaps he ought to ask directions to the Jarl’s keep. Before he could though he was being ushered through the doors that were slammed quickly shut behind him. He shook his head as he made his way up the street ahead of him. Perhaps he ought to tell the Jarl that keeping the city locked up was pointless – a dragon would just fly right over the walls if it was intent on attacking Whiterun.

On thinking that he glanced at the sky nervously for a moment, before taking in some more of his surroundings. He passed a blacksmith, a woman hard at work at the forge. There were smaller paths branching off the street he was on, but he kept on, thinking this the main way. Up ahead he could see a courtyard with market stalls, and buildings surrounding it. As he got closer he recognised one as an inn. Hopefully the Jarl would reward him with some coin for his information so he could rent a room for the night. Then, when fully rested he could get on his way to Riften. If he was very lucky he might be rewarded enough coin to hire a cart there.

He shook his head, one step at a time. First he would have to find the Jarl. He glanced around the market, imagining that it would usually be a lot busier. There were only a few folk milling about, and the stall holders looked rather glum.

“Are you lost, dear?” and old woman croaked from behind one of the stalls, and he looked towards her. As he did he saw steps leading up into another courtyard, and beyond that a large keep set high above the city. He smiled. Seemed he had found the Jarl.

“No,” he nodded to the old woman. “I know where I’m going.”

With that he made his way up the steps, crossing the second courtyard and sending a wary glance to the priest on the other side who was proclaiming loudly about something. Usually he would probably have found himself curious, but today he just wanted to get up these steps to the Jarl. Each step made his legs feel more and more like lead. Gods, he hoped the Jarl would spare him some coin – he really did need to get some sleep.

He walked across the bridge towards the doors of the Jarl’s keep, seeing two guards flanking the doors. “Word of the dragons,” he said heavily as he approached.

“Go on,” one of the guards said, moving to open the doors for him.

Adrian nodded his thanks as he walked through the doors, hearing them being pulled closed behind him. He lifted his head as he walked the length of the hall, a Dunmar woman approaching him as he came within sight of the Jarl’s throne. She drew her blade and he slowed his approach, her eyes dancing with suspicion and she appraised him.

“Who disturbs the Jarl? The city is closed,” she sounded haughty and accusing.

“I have news from Helgen – of the dragon attack,” he answered her.

“Then you’d best come forward,” she sounded resigned, re-sheathing her blade. “The Jarl will wish to speak with you personally.”

 


End file.
